I stifled a laugh as Holmes perused the journals. His eyebrows were rising and then frowning as he went along. Outside the door must have been a over fifty people who had just watched the numerous news updates that were on television. For some reason, I knew that Doctor Jones would do something like calling the news and telling them. Holmes put the third manuscript down, looking out into space. "Brother Edmond did well, I suppose." He said quietly.
Krys and Young looked at him questioningly, but I understood. His younger brother had moved in and pretended to be him, and Sherlock Holmes, . . Holmes had died because I stupidly let him get shot.
"Well, it's coming back to the States with you guys, so you can read them all, later. Right now- we have the world's largest Holmesian convention pounding on the door." Young gestured with a thumb towards the door.
My pocket started to play the Bach Minuet, so I picked up the call.
"Watson here."
"Who should be *here* instead of *there*!" I heard an all-too familiar voice on the other side. Lestrade was a creep of a guy, who looked like he never knew what 'outside' meant.
"That's sort of impossible. I just revived Sherlock Holmes and I'm in London and I'm about to be attacked by a angry mob of his adorers." I said meekly.
"Excuse me!?! I wouldn't believe that for a second!" He yelled.
Now everyone in the room was looking at me, and I made a letter 'L' to Krys. She rolled her eyes.
"No no, Lestrade, I'm the one that should be saying 'excuse me', I can have you fired toot-sweet. You basically my coffee-boy, so I'd be watching myself if I were you. What do you want?"
"I want you, Olivia, and Krys to be here A.S.A.P.-" The cell phone was grabbed out of my hand.
"First of all, no one should speak to a lady like that," Holmes said tensely, "and if I knew where you were you would know why I had such a good right hook!"
"Holmes!" I shrieked and grabbed the phone from him. "Listen, Les? We're gonna have to get back to you there, okay?"
"You're gambling at the shore," he said flatly.
"No, I'm not in Atlantic City."
"Well, tell your boyfriend-"
"No, that's not my boyfriend, that's Sherlock Holmes. I hate to end our conversation, but if those people out there break down the door, we won't be alive to get there."
Krys bit her lip. "Okay, Lestrade the butthole wants us to high-tail it to another continent, and we're all going to die a slow and painful trampling brought on by a group literate tontos."
"How are we going to get out of here?" Young asked.
"Window." Holmes and I said at the same time. I let it a small crack of a smile escape.
So, ten minutes later, the four of us where sneaking behind the building. "Does everyone do this?" Holmes asked as we got into Young's car, now an escape car in many ways, as Krys helped me lug the trunk to the back. We raced back to the hotel and safety.
"Well, I guess I'll see you guys then." The lawyer said sheepishly.
Krys jumped and hugged him, then gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you so much! If you're ever in the States, look us up!" Holmes turned and his face reddened.
"Oh, uh, people of today are very-open with their emotions." I explained quickly.
Along the way through London, we explained many of the modern conveniences. Being, well, himself, he took it all in one stride and acted like he knew exactly what was going on.
We checked him into the adjacent room, which shared a balcony, so that we were only a slam on the wall away. I was in the middle of explaining the microwave popcorn when Krys got a call from Young. She pouted and turned to me.
"This is fun and all, but-oh, come on he's soooo cute! May I take a rain check?" I rolled my eyes with fake sarcasm.
"I'll die, but okay."
She got ready and left, and Holmes and I were alone.
"So," he said as we stood on the balcony.
"So."
"Can you forgive me?"
I turned to face him slowly. "What did *you* ever do?"
He looked out, squinting the pavement below. "I let you get shot."
"Holmes, that's-"
"That's all *my* fault. My idea to go in the maze." My eyes were tearing. He never did anything, it was me.
"But my idea to agree."
"But my idea to go to his residence."
"And my fault that we figured out that who did it, so it was my fault that we had the bomb, and my fault that your leg was cut, and it was my fault to even be there in the first place."
He raised his eyebrows. "True, but I could have been rude and anti-social, like I usually am."
"Fine, it's your fault I got shot and it's my fault you got shot. See, now the guilt is evenly distributed." I turned to the trunk that was standing in the corner. "You realized that the trunk . . ."
"Was smaller inside than it should have been? Yes, what's in there?"
I flipped it out so he could read the stories. He grunted occasionally as he read them, squinting and laughing at some parts, muttering. It was good to see him and his habits again.
"Olivia, you're staring at me."
I snapped out of my thoughts. "Huh?"
"You were staring at me. Would you like to share anything with me?"
"Er, no."
"Women." He muttered and continued.
I slowly walked on to the balcony. The Thames was gorgeous at night. Holmes stood up and waved the manuscript in my face. "None of these were published, right? None from the lid?"
"None. I've read the Canon over ten times and each one has not contained any sign of them." I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He looked so beaten up, there wasn't the usual shine I saw in them.
"Holmes, you are not the perfect soldier type of person, if you want to talk about something, just tell me, you know I'll listen. That is, unless you pull a gun and stick it in my face and say 'omae o korosu' . . . . ."
"I was just thinking about what it would have been like if I didn't recognize a single face in this world."
"Hey, I did it, I was fine."
"But you had an idea of what happened."
"I didn't really, Watson was a great, intelligent man, but he did like to exaggerate a bit. In other words, I was as clueless as you are." I checked my watch. "It's getting less late, so I'm hitting the sack, you can do whatever, but don't leave the room or expect to be mauled by many, many people."
I had a good night's rest, and Holmes was cheerful as he crossed on the balcony to our room. Krys, had, as now the norm, come in in the wee hours of the morning, so she was still asleep. I started to pack as Holmes sipped his coffee.
"So, where are we going again?" HE asked for the fifth time, I groaned.
"We are going to Nee York City, in fact, we have to leave soon. When Holmes asked me what I was doing with a glass of ice water, I grinned. "Wake-up Call."
Holmes P.O.V.
The next thing I heard was Marianson's scream as Watson laughed out loud.
Definitely immature, one could tell that. I watched with slight amusement at the two women, Marianson chasing Watson.
"Tonta! Tonta ye feo! Yo deber matar tú!" she screamed in a shrieking voice.
"Not Spanish! Habeo habui habitum misericordia! " Watson shrieked.
"It's what I grew up speaking! Of course I'm going to use it, Little Miss Latin!"
I shook my head and went back to the morning paper. Talk of cell phones, automobiles, latest dance clubs-of which I had only a very small idea of-were sprinkled into every column. I put the paper down with sigh.
By this time they had stopped and were laughing, but Watson looked over at me. "You all right?" Those Americanisms.
"Yes, I *am* all right, and you should have asked, 'Are you all right?' *Do* try to use proper English." I corrected her.
She rolled her eyes, placing her suitcase near the door with a 'thud'. "How can I when I am American?"
"There is no difference." I retorted.
"Yes *there's* a difference." She put on a vulgar accent. "I aint all proper and stuff."
I cringed at that. "And I always thought you were proper."
She flashed me a heart stopping grin. "Appearances are deceiving, you know."
She left to take her things downstairs."
Marianson's POV
I was watching this Sherlock guy. He had the bug for my amiga, *really* bad. Holmes was in L-O-V-E, love.
When she started to talk to him it was like he thought there was no one else in the room. Trust me, as the unofficial center of the universe, that's very annoying. When we were on the street, a guy was checking her out. Holmes stepped in front of him and fixed him with an icy glare. Then, when we were in the back room, he heard her get called by her first name by that sleazeball. He basically killed him via the cell phone.
And one of the weirdest things was that they seemed to know each other. Liv already called him "Holmes" like she knew him. And they certainly were talking like they knew each other. I had a hunch there was something Livie and Holmes weren't saying . . .
************************************************************************
Blah, i'm sorry i took soo long. I posted, though. It's all thanks to Queen Hotaru, who was IM-ing me and helped me to tackle my writers block without the use of a fluff or ice pick. You be the best, girl!
I'm going to try to put you guys in the story, but I NEED NAMES! Otherwise, people with weird names will start to pop up in the autopsy room in this story . . . .
Krys and Young looked at him questioningly, but I understood. His younger brother had moved in and pretended to be him, and Sherlock Holmes, . . Holmes had died because I stupidly let him get shot.
"Well, it's coming back to the States with you guys, so you can read them all, later. Right now- we have the world's largest Holmesian convention pounding on the door." Young gestured with a thumb towards the door.
My pocket started to play the Bach Minuet, so I picked up the call.
"Watson here."
"Who should be *here* instead of *there*!" I heard an all-too familiar voice on the other side. Lestrade was a creep of a guy, who looked like he never knew what 'outside' meant.
"That's sort of impossible. I just revived Sherlock Holmes and I'm in London and I'm about to be attacked by a angry mob of his adorers." I said meekly.
"Excuse me!?! I wouldn't believe that for a second!" He yelled.
Now everyone in the room was looking at me, and I made a letter 'L' to Krys. She rolled her eyes.
"No no, Lestrade, I'm the one that should be saying 'excuse me', I can have you fired toot-sweet. You basically my coffee-boy, so I'd be watching myself if I were you. What do you want?"
"I want you, Olivia, and Krys to be here A.S.A.P.-" The cell phone was grabbed out of my hand.
"First of all, no one should speak to a lady like that," Holmes said tensely, "and if I knew where you were you would know why I had such a good right hook!"
"Holmes!" I shrieked and grabbed the phone from him. "Listen, Les? We're gonna have to get back to you there, okay?"
"You're gambling at the shore," he said flatly.
"No, I'm not in Atlantic City."
"Well, tell your boyfriend-"
"No, that's not my boyfriend, that's Sherlock Holmes. I hate to end our conversation, but if those people out there break down the door, we won't be alive to get there."
Krys bit her lip. "Okay, Lestrade the butthole wants us to high-tail it to another continent, and we're all going to die a slow and painful trampling brought on by a group literate tontos."
"How are we going to get out of here?" Young asked.
"Window." Holmes and I said at the same time. I let it a small crack of a smile escape.
So, ten minutes later, the four of us where sneaking behind the building. "Does everyone do this?" Holmes asked as we got into Young's car, now an escape car in many ways, as Krys helped me lug the trunk to the back. We raced back to the hotel and safety.
"Well, I guess I'll see you guys then." The lawyer said sheepishly.
Krys jumped and hugged him, then gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you so much! If you're ever in the States, look us up!" Holmes turned and his face reddened.
"Oh, uh, people of today are very-open with their emotions." I explained quickly.
Along the way through London, we explained many of the modern conveniences. Being, well, himself, he took it all in one stride and acted like he knew exactly what was going on.
We checked him into the adjacent room, which shared a balcony, so that we were only a slam on the wall away. I was in the middle of explaining the microwave popcorn when Krys got a call from Young. She pouted and turned to me.
"This is fun and all, but-oh, come on he's soooo cute! May I take a rain check?" I rolled my eyes with fake sarcasm.
"I'll die, but okay."
She got ready and left, and Holmes and I were alone.
"So," he said as we stood on the balcony.
"So."
"Can you forgive me?"
I turned to face him slowly. "What did *you* ever do?"
He looked out, squinting the pavement below. "I let you get shot."
"Holmes, that's-"
"That's all *my* fault. My idea to go in the maze." My eyes were tearing. He never did anything, it was me.
"But my idea to agree."
"But my idea to go to his residence."
"And my fault that we figured out that who did it, so it was my fault that we had the bomb, and my fault that your leg was cut, and it was my fault to even be there in the first place."
He raised his eyebrows. "True, but I could have been rude and anti-social, like I usually am."
"Fine, it's your fault I got shot and it's my fault you got shot. See, now the guilt is evenly distributed." I turned to the trunk that was standing in the corner. "You realized that the trunk . . ."
"Was smaller inside than it should have been? Yes, what's in there?"
I flipped it out so he could read the stories. He grunted occasionally as he read them, squinting and laughing at some parts, muttering. It was good to see him and his habits again.
"Olivia, you're staring at me."
I snapped out of my thoughts. "Huh?"
"You were staring at me. Would you like to share anything with me?"
"Er, no."
"Women." He muttered and continued.
I slowly walked on to the balcony. The Thames was gorgeous at night. Holmes stood up and waved the manuscript in my face. "None of these were published, right? None from the lid?"
"None. I've read the Canon over ten times and each one has not contained any sign of them." I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He looked so beaten up, there wasn't the usual shine I saw in them.
"Holmes, you are not the perfect soldier type of person, if you want to talk about something, just tell me, you know I'll listen. That is, unless you pull a gun and stick it in my face and say 'omae o korosu' . . . . ."
"I was just thinking about what it would have been like if I didn't recognize a single face in this world."
"Hey, I did it, I was fine."
"But you had an idea of what happened."
"I didn't really, Watson was a great, intelligent man, but he did like to exaggerate a bit. In other words, I was as clueless as you are." I checked my watch. "It's getting less late, so I'm hitting the sack, you can do whatever, but don't leave the room or expect to be mauled by many, many people."
I had a good night's rest, and Holmes was cheerful as he crossed on the balcony to our room. Krys, had, as now the norm, come in in the wee hours of the morning, so she was still asleep. I started to pack as Holmes sipped his coffee.
"So, where are we going again?" HE asked for the fifth time, I groaned.
"We are going to Nee York City, in fact, we have to leave soon. When Holmes asked me what I was doing with a glass of ice water, I grinned. "Wake-up Call."
Holmes P.O.V.
The next thing I heard was Marianson's scream as Watson laughed out loud.
Definitely immature, one could tell that. I watched with slight amusement at the two women, Marianson chasing Watson.
"Tonta! Tonta ye feo! Yo deber matar tú!" she screamed in a shrieking voice.
"Not Spanish! Habeo habui habitum misericordia! " Watson shrieked.
"It's what I grew up speaking! Of course I'm going to use it, Little Miss Latin!"
I shook my head and went back to the morning paper. Talk of cell phones, automobiles, latest dance clubs-of which I had only a very small idea of-were sprinkled into every column. I put the paper down with sigh.
By this time they had stopped and were laughing, but Watson looked over at me. "You all right?" Those Americanisms.
"Yes, I *am* all right, and you should have asked, 'Are you all right?' *Do* try to use proper English." I corrected her.
She rolled her eyes, placing her suitcase near the door with a 'thud'. "How can I when I am American?"
"There is no difference." I retorted.
"Yes *there's* a difference." She put on a vulgar accent. "I aint all proper and stuff."
I cringed at that. "And I always thought you were proper."
She flashed me a heart stopping grin. "Appearances are deceiving, you know."
She left to take her things downstairs."
Marianson's POV
I was watching this Sherlock guy. He had the bug for my amiga, *really* bad. Holmes was in L-O-V-E, love.
When she started to talk to him it was like he thought there was no one else in the room. Trust me, as the unofficial center of the universe, that's very annoying. When we were on the street, a guy was checking her out. Holmes stepped in front of him and fixed him with an icy glare. Then, when we were in the back room, he heard her get called by her first name by that sleazeball. He basically killed him via the cell phone.
And one of the weirdest things was that they seemed to know each other. Liv already called him "Holmes" like she knew him. And they certainly were talking like they knew each other. I had a hunch there was something Livie and Holmes weren't saying . . .
************************************************************************
Blah, i'm sorry i took soo long. I posted, though. It's all thanks to Queen Hotaru, who was IM-ing me and helped me to tackle my writers block without the use of a fluff or ice pick. You be the best, girl!
I'm going to try to put you guys in the story, but I NEED NAMES! Otherwise, people with weird names will start to pop up in the autopsy room in this story . . . .